Old Blog Transfer

All posts in the Old Blog Transfer category

I blame you, Ryan Seacrest! I turn on my radio and I hear Seacrest discussing this book 50 shades of Grey and calling it soft-core porn. Really? Where have I been and why have I never heard of it? So I let it go. Later, I am walking through Target with my BFF and she mentions SHADES. Um, this is the second time I have heard of it and so let’s buy the books. Less than two weeks later I have read all three of the books and in some ways 50 Shades has messed with my head in a bad way. I want my husband to learn to be romantic like Christian did for Ana. Oh, but wait, Christian isn’t real. He is a fictional character in a book, clearly. Men don’t really learn that crap, ever! Oh, and Christian isn’t the hero. Nope, he is the absolutely beautiful, but tortured man who must wrestle with his demons if he wants to keep his woman, but she is the hero. Ana is the one who saves Christian. She is the one who pulls him up out of the gutter, and even though she runs in the beginning, she never gives up, not really anyway. Once again…..non-fiction. We women do stuff like that all the time. I am not going to sit around waiting on my Christian Grey, I have enough problems without someone with deep psychological issues.

I’m angry today, although you are God, you already knew that. You see, I am tired. I am tired of waiting. I thought you had something special planned for me. I thought you were up to something fantastic that I would be completely shocked, but so thrilled about, but I guess I was wrong there, because I am waiting, and nothing. Not a word from you. I send e-mails to the people I know who are “important” and I don’t get any response back. Not even a screw you, go away silly girl! I don’t get it God, it just doesn’t make any sense to me at all. Please God, make some sense of all this. Make this something important. I want to do something to make you proud, but what God, what to do? I need you God I’m angry. I need your help God, please. Help me find my place in this world.

Just when you thought nothing you say or do ever makes a difference…someone surprises the crap out of you! I was trying to study today at Starbucks (don’t judge, it’s quieter than my house) and I had forgotten my ear buds at home. I get more done at Starbucks because I put in my earbuds and drown out the conversations going on, otherwise my ADD gets the better of me. Well, damn, I forgot them. So, I was checking my phone and I read an e-mail from a dear friend. It was about something I had done for her. She had sent me the blog posting she was getting ready to publish, and it was all about home. She had struggled for a long time after getting married at a very young age, and her marriage had eventually ended in divorce, and two fantastic kids. We met when we were finishing our bachelor’s degree. She had met a guy, and although he was younger, she really liked him. Eventually they got to the moving in together stage, and she really wanted to buy her own house. Well, the divorce made everything complicated. Her boyfriend wanted to buy the house for her, and she just really didn’t want to do it. She wanted to do this alone. This was for her. When she asked me for my opinion I sent it to her via you-tube. I sent her The Dixie Chicks, A Home.

I mistook the warnings for wisdom
From so called friends quick to advise
Though your touch was telling me otherwise
Somehow I saw you as a weakness
I thought I had to be strong
Oh but I was just young, I was scared, I was wrong

Not a night goes by
I don’t dream of wandering
Through the home that might have been
And I listened to my pride
When my heart cried out for you
Now every day I wake again
In a house that might have been
A home

Guess I did what I did believing
That love is a dangerous thing
Oh but that couldn’t hurt anymore than never knowing

Not a night goes by
I don’t dream of wandering
Through the home that might have been
And I listened to my pride
When my heart cried out for you
Now every day I wake again
In a house that might have been
A home
A home

Four walls, a roof, a door, some windows
Just a place to run when my working day is through
They say home is where the heart is
If the exception proves the rule I guess that’s true

Not a night goes by
I don’t dream of wandering
Through the home that might have been
And I listened to my pride
When my heart cried out for you
Now every day I wake again
In a house that might have been
A home
A home

Well, she and Matt bought the house, and now they are getting married. She is getting her happy ever after, I hope. So congratulations, and I love you very much. I am glad my opinion finally mattered to someone.

A week ago, Dan Wheldon, an Indy car driver was killed in a horrific crash. For some reason I have found myself obsessed with the images of the accident over the last week and I can’t figure out why. I didn’t know Dan. I had heard him in a few interviews on the radio, and he was a pretty funny guy. He wasn’t from Indiana, on the contrary, he was from England. We are the same age, he had a wife and two kids. Maybe it is because death is really the one uncertainty in life. Oh, don’t go thinking I have lost my religion, far to the contrary. I find that when people die, especially those I didn’t know I wonder about their eternity. Everyone talked about what a great guy he was, how funny he was, and how this was such a shame that he died. Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t agree more. The whole premise of the race he was in seems a recipe for disaster anyway. Does no one else see the irony here? If he won the race from starting in the final position he would win 5 million dollars. He was the only racer that had that as an option, and when there was a horrific crash and someone dies, it is the one guy who has the chance at the 5 million! Indy car should give the money to his family anyway.

I do feel for the family in that in the media age his horrific death was broadcast for all the world to see. It can be looked up on the internet and watched over and over. They say his parents were at home in England watching the race. I can only imagine that it must have felt like all the air in the room was sucked out all at once. What a helpless feeling it must have been to see your son’s car fly through the air and burst into flames. This wreck drove grown men to weap uncontrollably. Maybe that is why I have found myself so obsessed over the whole thing because it makes these race car drivers who often time seem bigger than life, a little more human.

So, so long Dan Wheldon, a guy I never knew. They tell me you were a great man, and since “they” tell me what I should believe, “they” must be right. I hope you knew Jesus.

Yesterday was your birthday, no I didn’t forget. You have been gone three years now, and so much has happened. I had another baby, a girl. I thought of you when she was born. I thought what you would have said. You would have said that she looked like you- no hair and no teeth. You always said that about the babies though. You loved the babies so much, and I think especially the little girls.

We miss you Papa, but especially mom and Mamaw. You know she has stopped living since you died. I still send her candy corn every now and then since it is her favorite. I need to send her some, it has been a while. Mom likes to think that you are sitting on the front porch in Heaven rocking baby Chloe, how I wish that were so, but I really don’t think that is the way it works at all. If it were, boy would I have a list of questions for you! Like: What does it smell like there? Can you still get a hug? Does your face hurt because you smile so much? Can you make sure that God puts my house right next door to a 24 hour Super Target that has a Starbucks inside?

If you can see us here, know that we do love you and we do miss you. Tell God to be patient, I’m trying to get it right!

Once upon a time, there was a 32 year old mother of three. She decided she had better go back to graduate school and finish her master’s in divinity degree. Of her three children she had a 12 year old who is autistic, and an 8 year old who is exceptional, and Aubrey, who is 21 months! She also worked full-time because her husband can’t seem to make himself hold down a job. Every Monday she left home for work, stayed over night to take all of her classes. She worked her ass off to complete her degree, until on day she lost her mind. Her right eye started twitching, and she couldn’t sit still. She ran naked into the street, and it started to rain. She danced and sang out in the rain until her husband finally drug her back inside, because the baby had pooped and he wanted her to change a diaper. So, she changed the diaper, dried herself off, and went to bed. She fell asleep and then she died. The End!

How many times have you heard someone talk about life getting better when they finally hit bottom. What happens when you hit bottom, and you can’t find anything to use to climb back out of the hole. Damn it, throw me a rope would you? I mean really, seriously. I am stuck at the bottom of this freaking pit, it’s dark, it smells, and oh yeah, I have 3 kids and a worthless husband down here with me.

Speaking of the husband, after 13 years of “marriage” I finally figured him out. Actually it wasn’t just him I figured out, it was me. I was washing dishes when I had a moment of clarity. I don’t have them very often, but when I do, I usually pay close attention. You see, at church they were talking about all the baggage we carry around, and that we carry all this baggage, and it inhibits our functioning in every day life.

I have always been the one to hold things together. That was my job, don’t rock the boat, and no matter what, do whatever you can to hold everything together, even if there isn’t enough duct tape on the planet to hold it together. What I figured out is in every relationship in my life I have been the mother. Not even a good mother, but a mother none the less. My mother had her “issues” we will call them for lack of a desire to describe it at this moment. Because of this, I was my own mother. With previous men, I was always taking care of everything, making sure that every one had exactly what they needed, not that my own needs were met, not my own. I remember one summer I had the boyfriend from hell, and Judy Malone asked me if I was going to be his wife or his mother when I got to church camp that year. Well, I finally figured that out and dumped the dope, only to date two more just like him (perhaps not as damaging, but the damage had already been done).

What the hell was I thinking, I guess I wasn’t thinking at all. I was looking at the guy in front of me, the one that wanted to pay attention to me at that moment. The same one whom I got pregnant with, and then married. How dumb am I? Feel free not to answer that rhetorical question.

There I was, standing at my kitchen sink in the apartment that I rent, but have been unable to pay for this month, staring at the man I have called my husband for the last 13 years while the soap dripped down my arms, realizing that it is not a wife he wants, but a mother. He’s not interested in being partners, or parenting together. Sure, he will babysit the other kids because he is the oldest, and that is what the oldest kid is supposed to do. When mom gets mad at him, he will do just enough to get back in her good graces until the next time. Yes, I am stupid